


Missing His Touch

by BattyPastel



Series: FrUKing Self Pleasure [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Companion Piece, Francis is romantic, Gay, Gay Male Character, Happy Ending, Imaginary England, Imagination, M/M, Masturbation, Naughty, Sexual Fantasy, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 02:30:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14684568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BattyPastel/pseuds/BattyPastel
Summary: Companion piece to: Lie Back and Think of EnglandIt was a practiced thing. The Englishman closed his eyes, inhaled, and exhaled. he permitted his mind to seek out an image that he could rub off to. Sometimes, it was a beautiful woman.Sometimes, it was a handsome man.Tonight, it was Francis.





	Missing His Touch

Call it a bad habit from his older days, but Arthur Kirkland was usually one to touch himself given the stress of any particular day. 

It was a fine relief to a hard day’s end and it ultimately tired him out so that he could actually sleep. 

If prompted by a teasing family member who had perhaps heard the creaking of his mattress from the night before, Arthur never acknowledged his own explorative hands. Over the years, he’d become quite good at holding a poker face when talking about anything that made him uncomfortable, including the talk of self pleasure. 

He never stammered, just gave a stern: “Gentlemen don’t do that” much to the dismay of his siblings who were certain that the blond couldn’t take a joke. 

Either way, the conversation always switched around to him just being a ‘pretend gentleman’ and a delinquent. Arthur would never escape the memory of his rowdy days, but he was thankful for the fact that it could be a topic that distracted from the ever uncomfortable topic of Arthur’s bedroom activities.

The englishman had three unspoken truths about his sexlife. 

First, he touched himself often.   
Second, he could bring anyone home he wanted but rarely did such, as his arousal could be handled in minutes and not often did he have enough patience to go out and seduce someone into his bed. And Third, when he did go out to bring someone home, there was one man that he went to often; Arthur would regularly end up in Francis’ bed or vice versa. 

It was odd to say the least. 

Arthur didn’t know when it had even started that he only went to Francis, but there were a few reasons he could guess. Francis was a complete slut, so it was easy getting to bed with him. Nearly every chance that they encountered one another the Frenchman would gaze at him just so and bite his bottom lip at some point like a flirtatious college girl. 

Often times, Francis came onto him first and Arthur thought it was cute. Francis would seek out any reason to touch him, but what really got him going was the way that Francis would gently grab his tie and give it a safe little tug. That motion alone would pull a smirk from Arthur’s lips.

Arthur finished the last of his tea and eyed the clock. 10:49 p.m.

He could feel his body was aching to retreat to bed despite his mind being wide awake. It was time for an early sleep. Standing up, he took his teacup to the kitchen, placed it in the sink, and finally retreated upstairs to his bedroom. 

Arthur took his time getting undressed. He knew it was going to be one of those nights where he touched himself in order to make himself go to sleep, so there was no rush to hop into a new pair of pajamas just yet. He pulled on just a plain white cotton shirt, then laid out a pair of cotton pajama bottoms on the bed for himself to pull on when he finished or in the morning before he exposed his legs to the cold.

After sliding in the bed, he took no time in pushing his briefs down to his knees. And exposing himself. 

Much like Francis’ home, Arthur kept his own room lit at night, and truthfully, it was because of Francis that he did it. Too many times had he been over to the frenchman’s home and fallen asleep with the comfort of a warm body next to him and a dim light. Though his room was kept dim by thanks of a low light reading lamp standing next to the bed. Every evening when it began to got dark, it would turn on, and every morning, Arthur would turn it off. 

Arthur slid into the blankets, unafraid of the mess he’d have to clean in the morning. If he made too much of a mess, he could easily scoot himself to the opposite side of the bed, though that was rarely an issue. 

It was a practiced thing. The Englishman closed his eyes, inhaled, and exhaled. His hand found his half-chubbing cock and he permitted his mind to seek out an image that he could rub off to. Sometimes, it was a beautiful woman, with a sixties style shag cut and ruby red lips and the juiciest posterior ideal for squeezing.   
Sometimes, it was a handsome man with muscles that were just right, a deep rumbling voice, and the deepest eyes.   
Rarely, and perhaps the most confusing of his fantasies, it was Alfred- noisy, strong, and loud… Perhaps it was his domineering but playful attitude that his subconscious decided was so attractive. Who knows?

Tonight, it was Francis. 

Really, the frenchman had been on his mind more often in the passing months, it seemed.   
The way he cooed at him when he spoke in that low, lulling voice. The way his somewhat dainty hand lightly touched his arm to catch his attention or seek out his own hand when he would flirt. The way those beautiful deep blue eyes Francis had would gaze at him like he were the only man on the Earth. 

These days, Arthur’s emotions towards Francis were hardly negative. In fact, whenever they seemed to encounter each other, the air between them was light and filled with playful banter, teasing, and flirting. 

Arthur gave himself a thoughtful stroke, then paused in thought. He wasn’t sure when he began considering the frenchman in a more positive light, but…

Biting his lip, he gave himself a squeeze, attempting to urge his cock to its full length, yielding positive results. “Time to stop romanticizing the bastard…” he mumbled to himself. Exactly. That’s what this was: self pleasure. There was a time and a place to daydream about Francis, but for now, he just wanted to tire himself out.

It didn’t take long for his cock to yield and grow to its fullest extent. 

Finally, Arthur could get to business- as it were. Though, he became increasingly aware of his bare palm- which absolutely would not do. He leant to the side of his bed and grabbed his lubricant which was in a rather discreet bottle that rested behind the flower vase. Anyone that might come into his room during the day would never notice such a thing. Now, with the bottle in hand, he happily rested back onto his pillow. 

Arthur squeezed a fair sized dollop of the slick into his palm and set the bottle aside before getting back to rubbing himself slowly. Was it cold? Yes. Though he’d done it like this many times before, and the change of sensation could be fun. A soft hiss left Arthur and he bit back a grin as he coated his length. As it warmed, the englishman closed his eyes once more, trying to catch a thought and settle on it.

He imagined Francis slowly plucking at the buttons that lined his shirt, steadily revealing his slightly sunkissed skin to him while smiling coyly. The knowing grin of a man who had been eager to be under another and delighted that he was going to get exactly what he wanted. 

Despite the frenchman’s more masculine form, he was feminine in his own rights. His body had enough muscles in the right places; his abdomen, pecs, biceps, and he even had the slight presence in his thighs. The nation of love was built like a male ballet dancer and Arthur found it positively pleasing. Though despite the muscle, Arthur noticed other things about him; his longer eyelashes, his slender hands, his softer jawline… 

Francis was the most beautiful man that Arthur had ever seen despite his centuries of living. Though if anyone asked, he wouldn’t dare admit such a thing.

Perhaps, though, he was more beautiful in bed.  
Arthur loved hovering over him, the other’s blond curls splayed around his face. Watching those delicate hands curl in the sheets, how his whole body would arch when he hit that spot inside of him. Arthur loved it all.

Those were the englishman’s favorite images and the ones he was working his cock to, the little ‘Ah!’s and ‘Oh!’s that he could practically hear drifted some. And changed to a cooing: ‘Aren’t you cute, Angleterre?’

The Englishman, no matter how he liked to project that he was solely a domineering top, would switch roles perhaps just as often. When he did allow his French lover to take him, it was the most wonderful, passionate love making he’d ever been on the receiving end of. No one had ever measured up to the affection and care that Francis provided.

It seemed that he ached for that right now.

A smirk painted over his lips and he wordlessly dared his brain to do its worst.   
Thanks to the Englishman’s vivid imagination, it was as though the frenchman were there next to him in all his naked glory. ‘Silly thing… Insisting on wearing that shirt? Fine. But when I get my turn to ravish you, it’s coming off. Or at the very least coming over your head so I can pin your hands and make you entirely helpless~’ Arthur bit his lip. How he managed such strong feelings for a pervert, he’d never know.

‘For now, why don’t we play a little game where you do exactly as I say?’ the frenchman purred.   
By no means was Francis a sexual deviant, but he did like to watch the englishman yearn for him. ‘Spread those legs for me, amour.’ Arthur did as his fantasy instructed and spread his legs wide enough to allow himself to work. ‘I want you to make yourself ready for me at my pace.’

‘Stroke yourself. Slowly,’ the French voice instructed, ‘Remember, these are my rules.’ A pleased sigh left him as his hand moved, dragging his skin from base to tip just as Francis would actually like it. Arthur imagined his French lover’s blue eyes staring at him as his tongue darted out to lick his lips- like a hungry cat staring down at a cornered mouse.

‘Yes, yes, just like that.’ 

The englishman kept the slow pace, he was starting to pant a little. ‘Gather some of that lube over your fingers. You have extra, I can tell.’ Arthur held his full length and gathered some of the extra goo from the underside of his cock with his index finger. He knew what his pretend lover was getting at. Still, he didn’t do a thing until he heard it again. ‘Rub it over your entrance, amour.’   
It didn’t make it any less embarrassing that it was coming from his own mind. 

Or was it Francis’ fault? The frenchman had asked him to do it before, after all.  
The memory of his french lover’s voice grew husky ‘I want you to get yourself ready for me.’ 

Obeying his fantasy’s orders, he pressed his finger in to the first knuckle. ‘Go on, Angleterre~’ He knew that this was just his mind at work, though he would rather blame it on the frenchman for being a pervert. A whimper left the englishman as he pressed in more, all the way to the second knuckle. Though, more than a whimper left his throat when he felt his fingertip brush his prostate. 

There it was.

‘Oh? What’s that sound? Did you find it already?’ Arthur huffed. If Francis were here and actually said that, Arthur would sass back. He’d say something like: “As if I’d never discovered his prostate before.”

‘Stroke yourself a bit faster for me.’ 

Right now, he’d probably receive a tender kiss from his french lover, and a soft, foreign encouragement. Then again, Francis would also be the one fingering him, so he’d have to replicate his touch as best as he could, though it would honestly never compare to the real thing.

He tugged himself faster with his newly granted permission from his imaginary lover, and gave that spot inside himself another little touch. The englishman was biting his bottom lip hard enough to irritate the flesh and make it flush red, though not hard enough to break it.   
‘Ah, ah, ah-’ the imaginary voice chided, ‘If you keep at that, you’ll cum too soon. Slow down some, you need to enjoy this.’

Arthur didn’t want to finish too fast, ‘Don’t prod it so much.’ He kept up his stroking pace. He’d cuss if the imaginary demands weren’t his own for himself. He urged his finger past the area and gently worked his finger back and forth.   
‘Ouais, just like that.’

This felt nice. 

A pleased sigh left the englishman. Since his house was empty tonight, he didn’t have to worry about being quiet in his own bedroom. A soft mewl left him and he worked his hardest to fight a small smile. 

If Francis were here, he’d likely be rubbing one out with him and leaning over to steal a kiss or two. Arthur would love to see Francis next to him huffing softly and biting his pillowy lips. 

‘Faster.’ Arthur Obliged, stroking himself quicker. 

‘I’m ready for you. Are you ready for me…?’ Arthur slowed his strokes briefly, and removed his finger, only to the tip. ‘Spread your legs more.’ Arthur slid down into his bed more and spread his legs a bit wider as though Francis were truly there, making his loving demands. 

He could practically see The frenchman moving forward and stroking himself while admiring his body. ‘You’re so cute when you’re vulnerable, Angleterre~’ the fantasy cooed. 

Arthur pressed a second finger to his entrance and rubbed over his pucker before pressing both fingers inside himself, pausing midway between the first and second knuckle. Two fingers would never compare to being opened up by his lover’s cock, but it would do. He’d far rather keep on enjoying himself in the heat of the moment rather than seek assistance from a dildo that he had in a box under the bed. 

Not to mention, the two fingers was enough to make him arch a little in delight. 

‘Oh, you’re beautiful like that…’   
There was no doubt that if Francis were there he’d receive another kiss. Anytime Francis dominated him in bed it always had a more tender edge. He thought it a little strange that the idea of a kiss left him wanting Francis with him at that moment rather than the idea of the Frenchman’s cock making him ache for his company. 

From this point on, he had no intent on stopping to edge himself or hold on and build himself up for the mental release. 

‘That's it, amour. Fuck yourself for me.~’

Arthur tuned out the voice as he reached his climax, instead he only concentrated on how good stroking himself and rubbing his prostate felt. He didn't last much longer before release where he promptly made a mess of his hand. 

He rested his palm over his tip, so he’d simply spill over himself.   
‘Bien. You're so pretty like that…’  
The Englishman was a flustered, panting mess. He stopped touching himself and rested back with a yawn. Arthur recovered from his post orgasm bliss somewhat quickly, though he was quite tired and airy, still. 

He rolled onto his side to sleep, through he was slightly disturbed by the buzz of his cell phone. He reached over to grab and check it. It was some unimportant notification, but the feeling of his phone in his hand gave him a new urge. 

It was quite clear to him that even in his pleasure, his feelings for Francis were deeper than the surface carnal desire. Yes, he was great in bed and nice to look at, but he was also doting and affectionate. 

He opened messages and typed a message:  
“I apologize for the late text. When are you free?” and sent it.   
Almost immediately, he got a response, and he found himself smiling at the screen. 

He missed his touch, though he wouldn't be missing it for long, it seemed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait on this fic! There were several things going on at once that made things just stressful enough that I couldn't write.   
> I'd rather not get into such topics, but send thoughts / prayers that things lighten up soon for me.
> 
> On topic with the fanfic, please comment and let me know how you felt about it! Critiques are always welcome~


End file.
